Pansy Parkinson and the Death Eaters
by BooJelly
Summary: Pansy's world is broken, and she knows she can't escape it, but maybe she can figure out a way to save herself. Book One of The Pansy Way Out series, this will not be uploaded regularly as I am a perfectionist and constantly am rewriting. But I intend to write a story from the other side's point of view, so it will be a dark AU. Please enjoy responsibly


**Chapter One: Broken Childhoods**

The morning brought about a drowning blue haze. It collected on the tips of the hills and slopped over into their valleys; its numbing brightness, distorting an already shaky horizon. The Parkinson Estate consisted of a long expanse of rolling hills. Its tall white pillars and red brick accents seemed to sprout out of the slow-moving fog that had surrounded the long building, as if was floating above the ground.

Pansy Parkinson sat in a tall backed, cushioned chair. Green felt, held together by circular, golden pins, swirling up the sides, steadily increasing in their circumference. She idly traced patterns in the arm of the chair, easily erasing them with a swipe of her hand. Cold green eyes, weighed down by darkened bags, drifted aimlessly from her mindless designs, to the wide-open lands outside the window. The creeping morning light crawled over pale skin and highlighted dark brown hair with deep mahogany. The long strands falling carelessly over stooped shoulders. Her dark dress robes were form fitting, the dark grey, long sleeved blouse was buttoned to the very top, cinched tight with a thin black tie, and neatly tucked into black slacks. Not a wrinkle adorned the heavy robes, which she had pushed from behind her and let collect to the side of the chair, so she didn't sit on its long length. Pale ankles peeked out before hiding under soft matte black leather and thin shoe laces.

The eerie silence of that early morning was broken by heavy footsteps. Announcing the presence of someone who had never learned the importance of a light step.

Pansy rose, as was custom when the head of the family entered a room, but her eyes never moved from the view. Her robes swished and resettled around her.

"You look good, Pansy," Padraig Parkinson's voice echoed around the room, too loud. A few more ostentatious clacks of his shoes meeting the floor sounded, before a hand clasped her shoulder.

Slow pressure drew her body away from the window and the morning sun which had just started to break through the fog, turning her to face her father more fully.

"I expect perfection from you today," he continued, Pansy's eyes dropped to just about his sternum. He was dressed similarly in dark dress robes. They were expected at the Malfoy manor, a place which her father greatly disdained but had been making frequent visits this past summer, since _his_ return.

Padraig's other hand came up to cup her cheek, which clearly showed the signs of his age, she had been born late in his life. He hummed, encouraging her to respond, squeezing her shoulder to almost painful.

"I will be perfect, Father," she said, her tone never betraying her disdain for the whole affair.

"If it is asked of us to accompany him outside of the Malfoy's land you must shroud your face, Pansy, as no one must know who the Lord commands to a task, not even The Main."

The second the last syllable left her father's lips, her eyes shot up to his. The Main were the witches and wizards closest to Lord Voldemort, a following protected by indiscretion. Tasks were only given if everyone was masked. The Parkinson's had been such members, always shrouded by hood or mask. It remained precedent that everyone knew what each task was, just not who performed it.

Though in the Lord's absence, those that hadn't garnered enough notoriety to have their allegiance publicly known needed leaders.

Apparently, her father could lead, but she could not. The thought briefly touched her mind, before it was forgotten in disinterest. She had no desire to lead, nor any desire to blindly follow her father's wishes like the loyal dog she, so recently, used to be.

It had all just been talk before, the preaching's of her delusional parents. The stories had all been fantastical tales of her more cherished, more _perfect_ brothers who had come to very untimely deaths fighting beside the Dark Lord.

All of which had only fueled her singular desire to make her parents proud. A desire that over the years turned from, that which fueled her, to something heavy, and jagged. It's edges latching onto her shoulders and digging past skin, and muscle, to bone. So that the behavior lay engraved there, behavior learned in hopes of one day fulfilling that desire.

But that desire had also been built on the belief that, the stories her parents told her, were nothing more than the blown-out embellishments of two _very_ proud people. _Not_ truth.

Yet here she stood firmly in reality, about to meet her parents' "Lord." To meet the man her parents likened to a _god._ How was she even supposed to feel in this moment? How could any of this be real, if none of it was right?

"Of course, Father," she finally responded, returning her gaze to the grassy hills. The morning fog hadn't burned off during their short interaction. It still lay collecting in the dips of the hills, being pushed around by the errant breeze.

Her father, not content to sit in the silence, loudly clomped across the hardwood floors. The skin around Pansy's eyes twitched with each hollow clack, and she let out a sigh when the echoes of his footsteps moved out of the room, probably in search of her mother.

An intense crack drew her attention away from the view once more. Her head moving automatically to the noise, so she saw one of her family's house elves wink into existence.

"Young mistress excuses, Tardy," the small elf said slowly. Pansy wasn't sure if the elf earned her name or if the name prophesied her future personality. Either way she patiently waited for the elf to continue, "Tardy bring something for young mistress."

Curious, she turned fully towards the small elf. She was smaller than any elf Pansy had seen before, her body dwarfed by the cloth draped over it. Walking to the trembling elf, she swiped her cloak to one side as she knelt on one knee.

Tardy held out both of her hands, they were so small she needed both to cover whatever she had clutched in them. Pansy lifted her hand below the elf's and smiled into the elf's large brown eyes. A small stone dropped into her palm. It was a deep green, broken up by white veins, and boasted a loud shine.

"Tardy's stone, yours now," the elf said as she places her hand on top of Pansy's, "Make feel safe." Taking a quick glance over her shoulder, Pansy's finger curled around the stone and she placed her hand over the elf's that had grown up with her.

"Thank you, Tardy," with one last glance over her shoulder she crowded closer to the smaller body. "Listen Tardy, whatever happens tonight. If an elf is called to serve, you make sure it's not you. Do you understand?" Pansy gripped the small hand and tugged Tardy closer.

"Tardy listens to Pansy," the elf said smiling, pushing into the shelter Pansy was providing "Tardy know." Pansy smiled and smoothed her hand down the back of Tardy's head in the way she knew calmed the small elf.

"Promise me," Pansy insisted moving her gaze from one large brown eye to the other, "you are important. "The small elf stopped trembling, her thin arms clutched around Pansy in a hug.

"Tardy promises," the words whispered into Pansy's robes.

"Good," Pansy said gruffly and standing swiftly, dislodging the small being as her anxiety mounted, "go now, and don't come unless I call you specifically." There was a murmur of confirmation before a small patter of feet left her in silence once again. She held the smooth stone in her right hand, between her thumb and middle finger, twirling it slowly with her pointer. Though she didn't have long to be alone with her thoughts as her parents soon both loudly made their entrances into the room.

"I still don't understand why I cannot attend," her mother, Ruth Parkinson, was saying. Her Irish lilt intensifying with her emotions.

"Wife," her father growled, a term he only used to point out the difference in their positions. He was the head of the family and his word was law. "You will remain here, just as Lady Malfoy remains." Pansy inwardly cringed at the mention of Draco's mother. The woman had always been a thorn in her mother's side, someone she complained to Pansy about, often. She knew she was in for one such talk soon. Her mother's upper lip stiffened, and Pansy quickly moved to deescalate the situation.

"Father," she said, reaching for his arm, she noticed for the first time he held masks in his hand. "What are these?" That seemed a safe enough question. Padraig shuffled the two masks for a moment, dropping one into the folds of his robes.

"This is your Kamen." His words were terse, his frustrations with her mother still very much at the surface. She took the mask from his hand slowly. It was made of a smooth bone texture, and it had no characterizing features, it was nothing more sinister than a human face. Nothing like the one she saw her father slip into his robes. That brief glance showed a mask with more threatening features. "Each mask adapts to the wearer and becomes unique to them. Your deeds will be etched into the bone, but you can never show your mask to anyone. If someone knows what your mask looks like, they will know you in it." His explanation was lazy, his words clipped. If Pansy hadn't already known what it was, his words would have only confused her.

Each mask involved intense magic to make, it couldn't be made by a single person, often needing the combined magic of three to five witches or wizards. Immensely dark magic that is. It looked like bone, because it was; probably muggle. It was smooth and polished now, but each bit of magic she did with it on would affect its features. Her fingers tingled where they came in contact with it. Again reality was slapping her in the face, or in this instance, she was holding it in her hand. This mask was made from a person who had, probably very recently, been alive.

Pansy was pure blood, and she knew exactly what that meant, or at least she had thought she had known. She had been given opportunities that no other mublood, or even half-blood were given. She had access to her family's private spell books, had been studying magic since she was old enough to read, had even been practicing under the careful eyes of private tutors who had been ordered to keep a still tongue if the ministry ever came knocking about underage magic. For these reasons, Pansy believed herself better. Reasons she thought were supported when she far excelled others in her class. No half blood or mudblood could come close to her skills with a wand. Skills she had worked very hard for. _This_ was why she was better. At least that was what she had believed, not the idea of purity that she knew was her parents' reasoning. Even at a young age, Pansy could recognize hate for what it was. Yet growing up in her parent's world, she couldn't help developing a strong sense of pride in her roots and where she came from. She was straddling the line of her own morals and her parent's expectations of who she was to become.

Pansy couldn't understand how her parents could be so blasé with it all. Even now they were discussing whether or not Pansy needed to change out of her slacks and into a skirt- her mother was forever trying to make her dress like a proper "Lady." As if her father hadn't just handed her the remains of a person, and expected her to just wear it, on _her face._

Her whole world was turned around and upside down. How was this her life? How could any of this be real? Everything was so, incredibly wrong. She had to have been blind, or maybe incredibly naive, to think that she could just play along long enough to eventually escape with adulthood. To be able to please her parents and still hold true to her own moral code. How long did she expect to get away with her words being her only weapon? The Dark Lord was never supposed to come back from _Death._ To Pansy, her parents' ideals had an ending, their values would soon be buried right beside their Dark Lord. In the past. Her future had always been safe because there was no catalyst for her parent's pride, her parent's hate. At least, that used to be true.

She had seen the change in her parents after the knowledge of _his_ return. Of course, her parents would expect her to fight, to share their ideals, their moral compass. They were preparing for war, and they were taking her with them.

Subconsciously Pansy clenches Tardy's stone in her hand, oddly grounding herself. Well, maybe not everything was wrong. Pansy outwardly smirks, some traits you can't help but learn. How funny it was that her parents had tried to instill in her the importance of being a pureblood and having a pureblood family. Yet the only one she was truly close to in this house, was a house elf. Pansy quickly placed her clenched hand in her slack's pocket, not wanting to risk it being taken from her.

"Daughter," the gruff word from her father startling her even though she had been listening to their conversation the whole time, "It is time."

Time. Something she seemed to be running out of lately.

Pansy lifted her hand to her father's elbow and prepared herself for the side along apparition, easily transitioning from the hardwood floors of their family house to the cobblestone road that lead up to Malfoy manor. The Dark Lord had increasingly started to favor the tall grey monstrosity the Malfoy's called their home. With its sweeping lawns and well groomed hedges, the morning's fog easily clung to the high stone towers of the manor, the misty wisps trapped by an impressive wrought-iron gate. The white cobblestones of the long drive quickly coated Pansy's freshly polished shoes in a sheen of dust, something more purposeful than one might think, but Pansy's eyes were caught by something much more important.

She had seen the white peacock that would grace the top of the hedges along the drive maybe twice in her life, each, fleeting glances that could have easily been brushed off as a trick of the light. Yet, today, the peacock rested atop the hedges, nestled between the gate and leaves, its pink eyes were the first warm color she had yet to find here. Pansy's betrothal to Malfoy meant she spent a lot of time searching for this bird, and finally, here it was.

Pansy dropped her hand from her father's elbow, as he pulled away to enter the gate. Her eyes sweeping from the hard lines of the manor, nothing like the flow and curves Hogwarts boasted, back to the calm albino creature, content to straddle the line between freedom and the cold clutches of the manor below.

Turning from the bird and the freedom behind her, Pancy trailed after her father through the gate, saluting before it would allow passage. The fog nipping at the tips of her ears, but the cold didn't seem to bother her as much these days, something she continued to ponder as they paused before the large wooden doors, engraved with the Malfoy legacy.

A house elf pulled the door open, indicated which direction to go and then winked to another part of the manor. Padraig Parkinson flinched at the loud crack, her family house elves had long ago learned never to apparate in front of her father, she could almost physically feel her father's mood souring. She followed his loud trod across the stone floors, the pale eyes of long dead Malfoys tracking their every step.

Padraig paused before entering the main hall, his dark eyes bore into hers, "Do not disappoint," it was a threat, Pansy knew there would be consequences if she did.

"Ah, Padraig," greeted their entrance to the main hall, "dear friend please come closer, is this your offspring?" The sing songy tone the voice took, sent a chill down Pansy's spine. Her eyes stubbornly stayed rooted to the floor just in front of her. Her father's hand clutching her elbow lead her across the room. A slight glance up showed that a large dining table had been elongated and placed in the middle of the floor. Most of the seats were already occupied and the slight chatter between the occupants had stopped when they had entered.

"My Lord, it is my extreme pleasure to lay eyes on you once more," Padraig cheered, "my daughter, Pansy, and I are ever in your service." The continued pressure on her elbow was the only thing that kept her feet moving forward, otherwise she would have frozen on the spot.

Her thoughts returned briefly to her morning's conundrum, _How was this actually happening?_ Everything just felt wrong, she was never a fan of her father's friends, never comfortable being around just one of them, let alone a table full of them. Even that wasn't counting the overwhelming darkness at the head of the table. Her chest was beginning to tighten, each breath becoming harder to pull through her clenched teeth. She was so lost in her mind that she didn't realized that they had stopped moving forward, until the sing songy voice spoke up again.

"Raise your eyes child, I would like to look upon a spawn of Parkinson once more." It took Pansy a moment to actually convince her head to look up, she had to fight every instinct in her body that was telling her to run, to get as far away from this, _thing_ , as possible. Somehow though, she was able raise her chin, her eyes focusing more towards his chest, where his dark robes contrasted with pale skin. Somehow not being able to even look upon his face. "You make handsome offspring, Padraig, I must say." Handsome she knew, did not mean beautiful. She had strong features, ones maybe too hard to be seen as beautiful

"Thank you, m'Lord," he rushed to say, his body dropping into a deep bow.

"Something the Malfoy boy must enjoy," the Dark Lord said, his body tuning to the wall on his right side. Quick to look away, Pansy turned with him, "Why don't you join him, young lady," she didn't see his hand rise to touch her turned face. Just felt the cold fingers and the scrape of overgrown fingernails. Pansy breath froze in her chest and her head bobbed oddly in what she hoped seemed like an affirmation, and somehow, she made her feet carry her over to the wall.

Draco was pale, that was nothing new, but this was a paleness that Pansy could relate to. It was the paleness of the rug being taken out from under you, the blood draining the face and rushing to the more important organs, a defense mechanism. His eyes rose from the floor in front of him to meet hers, and in that moment, they knew nothing would ever be the same.

The luck of being born a pureblood, of being born to a pure family line was somehow tainted now. It was nothing like the pride her father had taught her to carry. That had been safe. Being proud of your heritage, or where you came from was the root of everything Pansy believed, and to be faced with the naked truth, that everything that made Pansy who she was, was false, terrified her. She felt nauseous, she loved her family, loved her mother, and yeah, she knew that they weren't the best parents, but they were _hers._ Without them, she had no one. No aunts, no uncles, or cousins, all of her extended family perishing along with her brothers in the previous war.

Draco gave a slight nod to the wall across from them, and Pansy took in the line of other people that collected along the dark wood, presumably more family of the people gathered around the table. Some rested in chairs, others leaned against the wall, all listening to what was being discussed at the main table. They were all silent, only breaking it every so often to murmur their agreement to the person next to them. She recognized faces of Hogwarts graduates, aurors, ministry workers, and even a couple of older Slytherin students but most were a mystery to her, and none were younger.

"Why are they over there," the other part of her question not having to be asked - _and why are we over here._

"Because," Draco said under his breath, "they're in, and we aren't." If Pansy's chest had felt heavy before, it was like she was suddenly attached to the world and it was pulling her down.

"This can't be happening." Draco elbowed her hard in the ribs.

"Don't, sound carries, and you'll just make this a whole lot harder for yourself. Just accept that this is the reality now, we were born into this, we can't change it."

Startled Pansy looked into Draco's eyes, he was growing, in the literal sense of the word. Not quite to his full potential yet, but he had caught up to Pansy. His eyes level with hers, she saw the finality of his decision. He was in this because it was expected of him, of them both, but Pansy held no such conviction. Draco, more than she, wanted to make his family - his father, proud. Maybe that singular focus allowed him to put blinders on to the rest of the world, blinders Pansy herself didn't have.

Draco redirected his eyes back to the floor in front of him, preparing himself for whatever would come. The voices at the table carried over to them but the sound fell on Pansy's numb ears collecting in an indiscernible white noise. Yet, she couldn't tear her eyes from the boy she grew up with. They had known each other practically from birth, often handed off to each other to entertain themselves, she knew this young man completely, he was her best friend, they protected each other.

Pansy didn't have very many people to protect, but she wouldn't fail the ones she did have. Draco needed her, she knew this. If this was the path he was going to take she would just have to take it with him.

"But, they aren't even of age!" Draco's father was sputtering. He sat several spots to the right of the Dark Lord. The slight jerks of his elbow suggested he was wringing his wrists under the table.

"This is a new age Lucius, our children no longer have the privilege to sit innocently in the background," he started, looking at Draco's father, but finished addressing the rest of the room. "The Ministry has stewed in their complacency for too long, they have allowed the filth to rise," shouts of agreement rose from the wall across from Pansy, the group of people no longer standing still and silent. "They settle for mediocrity, they call for order of all they deem dark, magical creatures." More shouts from the far wall, the loudest coming from Greyback, a looming presence Pansy was surprised she didn't notice earlier. "You're place shouldn't be below _mud._ " Everyone at the table were now standing, every face flickered with different emotions, yet all shared an underlying awed look.

Pansy felt her face contort, she quickly looked down, so it wouldn't be noticed. These words were supposed to insight some sort of fire in her, yet Pansy shivered as if she'd been dunked in icy water. Her stomach twisted as she recalled her father's face. He had looked at his Dark Lord as if the man himself gave Padraig life, he had looked… happy.

"We all must sacrifice for this cleansing," the Dark Lord ended, his voice evening out in tone, effectively bringing the energy level of the room back to an eerie calmness. "I believe it's time that we welcome the future into the fold, they are the next generation. Let's make sure we've built a good foundation. Lucius, clear the room."

Lucius Malfoy stood slowly from his place at the table, quietly summoning his house elves who appeared with separate cracks in the air. As they went about clearing the table the Dark Lord turned to the opposite wall a slow smile slipping onto his face.

"Bring the muggles."

Three words Pansy would never forget.

Hushed whispers broke out across the room, and the group seemed to vibrate with a collective intensity. They all pushed closer to the middle, no longer holding a singular line.

Something was happening, and Pansy's heart was on fire. Her whole upper body tingled, her knees were numb, and she clenched her teeth together with such a force she almost felt like she would split a tooth. Pansy Parkinson was afraid. She could feel it, something was coming, something she was not ready for. She didn't want to be here.

"I understand that you two received your Kamen today," the Dark Lord spoke up again. Draco immediately slipped the mask into his hand, pulling it from somewhere in his robes. "It is important to quickly bond with them, and its tradition to do it in the presence of the collective. Use this opportunity to show your fellow witches and wizards just what to expect from you. Dawn your masks, you will bond today."

If her stomach had flipped and dropped earlier, it was her heart that bottomed out now. Her mind raced with everything she knew about Kamens. Now Pansy wasn't dumb, she could put two and two together. In her peripheral Draco already wore his mask, she didn't even want to lift it from the pocket in her robes. Its weight had been a constant reminder of its presence, occasionally brushing up against her breast.

By the time Pansy finally convinced her limbs to cooperate the mass of people across the room started to voice their excitement. Floating through the air, probably with the aid of a feather weight charm, two bodies writhed. Limbs twisted and spun, faces frozen in silent screams, flashing into view before twisting away.

They must not understand what was happening, let alone how. The two muggles had to have had their voices taken from them, because their chests heaved as if they were expelling a great force from their lungs, but no sound escaped.

Dread settled where Pansy's stomach used to be, her mind circling back to not wanting to be here. With the Kamen finally settled on her face, she clenched her eyes shut, hiding the only way she knew how.

"One spell, one curse, or one hex pick one to demonstrate to the collective and to bond with your Kamen," the Dark Lord said, the crowd behind him started to shout encouragement, "These are your canvases," two muffled thuds sounded in front of Pansy and she winced. "Choose wisely."

As wealthy purebloods both Pansy and Draco had, had a litany of private tutors and had learned many forms of combative spells. But that had all been on paper, with practice dummies, never actually using them with intent, let alone on someone who was _alive_. She was not prepared for this. This scenario, this series of events, had never crossed her mind. Maybe it was an accumulation of her naivety and obliviousness, but somehow, she had never pictured herself aiming her wand at another living creature with the intent to cause it pain. That wasn't in her. If she had to participate she thought she would take a supporting role, not find herself in the center of it.

This wasn't what she had understood her parent's belief to be. Yes, she was proud to be a pureblood, proud of her family, and yes, she had believed that because of her purity she was better than those who didn't have the heritage that she had, than those that didn't have the Parkinson pedigree. But now she stood, surrounded by the purest form of hate she had ever been privy to, and this was nothing to be proud of.

Pansy's breath hissed through her clenched teeth, her eyelids fluttered open, and she searched the crowd for the only pair of eyes that could save her from this. When they finally landed on the solid hazel eyes she knew there was no hope. Her father's face held a firmness that let not even a single butterfly sized hope fly free. She knew the consequences if she didn't.

She only had to do it once, right? And then it would be over, she could go home, she could begin to forget… right?

Draco seemed to have the same idea, as he sent a particularly mean stinging jinx at one of the muggles. It was one she also knew and would cause the skin to boil. Draco probably believed the harshness of the reaction would be enough for the bonding. And that was the solution to their problem, wasn't it? Figuring out exactly what was the minimum. The gravity of what was happening hadn't settled quite yet.

The man's scream startled them both, not expecting the silencing spell to have been lifted. The skin on his face bubbled. He was wearing a simple light blue t-shirt, couldn't be more than ten years older than they were, and, if the smell was anything to go by, he had just wet his pants. The crowd began to heckle the muggle.

"These pathetic creatures are below us, below even the mud that stains our community, hit him again," the Dark Lord said, slowly circling behind Draco, his hand trailing over her friend's shoulders. Pansy's whole body tensed, they wanted more from them? Draco sent the stinging jinx again, barely uttering the incantation. This time hitting the muggle lower on his body causing him to jump and curl up into a ball. His face already held angry red blisters, and the whites of one of his eyes had turned a blood red, the capillaries in it had burst, his screams were escaping from behind clenches teeth and saliva fell from his quivering lips to puddle onto the floor.

Unable to look at the muggle in front of her, Pansy turned and stared at Draco. She couldn't see his face behind the smooth features of the mask, the effects of the bonding would take days to appear, but she could see just how tense his shoulders were, and how he held himself so painfully straight. The Dark Lord had crowded his body so close to the boy, his lips brushed Draco's ear with each word. Her friend's hand shook slightly as he held his wand straight out from him, pointed at the muggle who continued to jerk about on the floor under Draco's constant jinxes, sweat turning the muggles shirt a darker blue.

Among the jeers and shouts of the gathered crowd Pansy could make out the hissed " _Again_ "s. Each immediately followed by a red jet from Draco's wand. Pansy wouldn't be able to recount the amount of times Draco flung the jinx, just how ragged his breathing became as he exhausted himself and his magic, how his shoulders sloped with this added baggage, how she felt tears push the Kamen slightly from her face and slide in torrents down her neck. She would remember the screeches as the muggle screamed himself hoarse, how his voice cracked and eventually broke, how the air became permeated with sour body odor and feces as the pain caused the man to relieve himself again. She'll remember how the other muggle cowered on the floor, surrounded by angry faces and ugly screams, how her silencing charm never allowed her to say goodbye to a person she so obviously loved. Pansy will remember how the body stilled, how it had given up, and she'll remember how the Dark Lord made Draco continue long after the muggle had finally died.

Pansy couldn't make herself look at the body, knowing that the disfigurement might actually break her. She couldn't do that, there was no way she could make a person suffer like that and live with it. Pansy felt the gravity now, she knew what was going to happen, what she was going to have to do. She just couldn't figure a way out, a way she could get out without killing the muggle. She had been scared this morning before arriving, and that was before her world view had shattered around her. She wished she could skip to the end, she didn't want this, she just wanted this whole thing to be over. She grasped her wand tightly in her hand, pulling it from its holster.

She felt the focus turning toward her, the time running out. She couldn't put the muggle through what Draco had just done, and not entirely for unselfish reasons. _I don't like this,_ her eyes squeezed shut again, her mind repeating the words like a mantra, as if the constant repetition of those four words would somehow spring her from this trap.

Pansy's eyes shot open again, searching out her father's once more in silent desperation, that Padraige might actually save her from this. If anything, his face only spoke of his disapproval of her inaction. She felt betrayed, he should have warned her, prepared her, _saved_ her!

Her eyes tracked back to the muggle, the girl's blue eyes had dulled long before now, her matted hair stuck to the tears on her face, and Pansy felt numb. She just wanted it to be over, in fact she felt this so strongly she didn't mindfully notice when she lifter her wand, or when she called upon her magic, the only thing she saw was the muggles eyes flash green, before she collapsed on the floor in a lifeless heap.

Pansy became aware of the ringing in her ears when it stopped, and she realized that the room was silent. The collective had all taken a step back and quieted when the green curse had burst from her wand. It took Pansy even longer to realize she never actually said anything.

Pansy Parkinson had just silently cast an Unforgivable Curse and taken her first life at fifteen years old.

For the second time that day Pansy Parkinson found herself sitting in a tall backed, cushioned chair. How she made it to the brown leather chair in the Malfoy sitting room, was beside her. She couldn't stop looking at her hands, she wasn't even thinking about anything in particular, just how her fingers curled subconsciously, or maybe she was thinking about how long each digit was, or maybe it was just an excuse to hang her head. The only thing Pansy was consciously aware of was the ringing in her ears. It was a consistent high-pitched ring, the only thing to puncture the fog that had collected and surrounded Pansy since that moment in the hall. At first the noise went unnoticed, but when the sound finally registered Pansy's heart rate jumped thinking it was screaming, and her stomach twisted when she thought that it was _her_ scream, a sound she had never actually heard. But, now it grounded her in the moment, isolating her from outside noises that might remind her of what she had done, of what she had become.

Unbeknownst to her, Draco was huddled on the couch off to her right, his hands clasped a steaming mug of tea. Narcissa Malfoy sat behind him, her hand ran through his blond hair and would trail off his thinning cheeks, as if in search of a stray tear.

No one spoke, no one needed to.

The world had changed. That was the only logical explanation Pansy's mind could give her.

The world had changed.

But did it really?

Was it the world that had changed or was it that she could finally see it for what it really was. It wasn't black and white, them versus us. There was no clear division between good and evil anymore. At least not for her. Pansy liked to think that she was observant, she could see how Dumbledore manipulated Potter, she had thought that the use of someone so naive, so young, so ignorant of the old ways, was a clear indicator that 'we' were better. That 'we' didn't hide our darkness behind glorious titles and use our positions of power to corrupt silently. It had always been a use every means necessary, but at least 'we' had the right to choose. At least, that's how Pansy had seen it.

She thought she had a choice. It was as simple as that really. She had believed she could choose to run away. Like that was a viable option for her. As if she could hide from this. She was a part of it now, there was no taking what she had done back. She had left her first mark on the world, and it was dark.

The concept of taking a life had never been on Pansy's mind, she was just starting her fifth year at Hogwart. Her thoughts revolved around classes, her main goal was to graduate and disappear. She didn't want to choose a side, she didn't want any of this, she had just wanted to be normal. She had been too complacent. Thinking she had time, she didn't even have plans for a situation like that. A situation like that was never supposed to happen.

Pansy had, had thoughts of maybe being a healer. She was good at charms and spell work, and she had helped Draco with plenty of his quidditch injures. She thought she had found something she was good at. Something her parents might be proud of, and support if it came to it. An escape without losing everything she had ever known, and if it did go belly side, it was something she could use to support herself. She thought, she had thought of everything, how could she do that now? Now that those blue eyes were burned into the back of hers. Now that she couldn't close her eyes without seeing them. The fingers on her right hand began to flutter as her anxiety mounted.

"Pansy!" his voice broke through the constant screaming in her mind. Her head snapped into the upright position, her back straightened, and her shoulders pulled taught. "Come, you should not be cowering with the _women_." Pansy stood, only then becoming aware of Draco and his mother also huddled in the dark room. As she approached, Padraig swung his arm over her shoulders, his face filled with a joy that Pansy couldn't comprehend. She felt oddly cut off from most of her emotions, feeling only a strange drowning numbness.

Her father dragged Pansy further out of the room and deeper into the Malfoy manor. His hand gripped her shoulder, squeezing it with his overflowing cheer.

"You have made me proud today Pansy. There is no denying your power as a pureblood, as a representation of what we should all strive to be." Each of her father's words barely making it past her ears, to actual comprehension in her mind. She could barely put her feet safely, one in front of the other, without tripping up right now. Let alone make sense of a man she's only seen genuinely happy three times in her life, counting the very confusing instance she was currently having. It terrified her. "When this is over the whole magical world will be at our fingertips, because of you Pansy. The strength and skill you showed today will propel you right into the inner circle. You may not even have to inherit my seat! Can you imagine, two Parkinsons in The Main." He wasn't even talking to her anymore, even in her haze she could tell his mind was off in his own aspirations.

"I don't want to do that again." Pansy doesn't realize she even said it, or even what compelled her to. The words were her last chance though, there was no way she'd get out of this relatively painlessly unless she somehow convinced her father to allow her to play the sidelines instead. Her father's rambles died as her words registered, "I could be the healer on raids or the potio-" If she was clear headed she would of seen the backhand coming in the tensing of her father's shoulders. As it was, the corner of his Parkinson house ring caught Pansy's brow. The surprise of it and the force behind the hand threw her into the wall of the hallway. Portraits voiced their displeasure in being disturbed, others voiced advice to better her father's form, some even criticized her father for using an action they deemed muggle instead of magic.

With her knees crumpled under her, Pansy kept her head bowed. Used to this treatment, and knowing the reactions needed to help ensure the calming of his mood. It wasn't enough, as soon Pansy found herself staring down her father's dark wand. In the perfect position to see the red curse build in the wood and spew out the tip as her father flung a mild Crucio at her. The red stream struck her right shoulder first, the wave of pain swept diagonally across her body, quickly clutching at her heart, swelling it, and pushing it up and into her throat. It felt like she was gargling it, as each pound of the overworked muscle suffocated her a little bit more. Each nerve screamed as wave after wave passed over them, causing limbs to jerk and her jaw to clench. Screaming would encourage the torture to continue. As it was, only stuttering gasps escaped her clenched teeth. Pansy pressed her forehead to the plush carpet that lined the Malfoy's hardwood hallways, inadvertently wiping the sweat from her brow but also scratching her overly sensitive skin.

"Did that help clear your brain of those ridiculous thoughts?" Her father asked as the pain stopped.

"Y-yes," she got past clenched teeth and hitched breath. In that moment she wished her father was more like Lucius. At least Malfoy had the smarts to be afraid of the Dark Lord, no good would ever come of that ma- _thing._ His hand bunched the back of her collar as he muscled her up and into a standing position.

"Let me see your face," he said, his head tilted back as he examined the cut he made in her eyebrow. She could feel the blood make its way down her cheek to dribble off her chin. "Leave it, I want you to remember this day. A reminder of the day you put all your silly notions of underperforming to rest. You are the sole heir of the Parkinson house, an original twenty-eight. The blood that runs in your veins is pure magic, you think I'd let you be ordinary when you can be magnificent? After me, you're the last in the Parkinson bloodline."

The words echoed around the hallway, echoed around Pansy's head, closing the only escape door Pansy could see. Her father was a stubborn man. She would not find an escape within her family, she knew that. There was no escaping this intact, not for her, not anymore.


End file.
